Stephen Mead

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a Outsider published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen MeadFor links to his other media and even merchandise if you are interested please feel free to Google Stephen Mead Art.

To salvage whatever may breathefrom things minutely charring…to take an axe or use just hands& funnel through…Glass popping like candy, wiring,exploding tentacles, the retardantsuits quivering, ovens in themselves…

This is grace, amazing for existingwithin carnage.This is passion, humanity attemptingto preserve in a one in one thousand chance.This is our business here, the urgency whichcrawls, prowls, smolders to shield-----

copyright 2017​ The Tattoos (for Anna S.) (October 13, 2017)They put on youI found to be astonishing & slightlygrotesque. No, not the fact of your skin,perfect if hurting beneath that modern Aztec map,but the lines, the x’s, a technologic blueprintof voodoo for where the radiation would enterthe numb branches…

Perhaps warriors are painted as such, & certainlyyou have, even when delirious,pure soul. Yet I also see the marks as brandsbefore slaughter, as hands of the pilot steeringacross the radar & the sonar screenas if the scene was just a video game, & thosewere play toys, those bombs that he drops…

Let the beams pinpointing you penetrate gently,excise the poison & not nullify anything else.May you walk from the incisors leaf tossedas though from the prickling wind which freesthe stem from the limb.

Back to turf again, to terra firma, to what issolvent, the majestic tattoos of earthwe are each particular needles & ink of,we scrolls in our own rightof the fold, the strolling